A Pocket Full of Murder (25 page)

“Stupid Kerchers,” Lilet spat, and Mimmi burst into tears and dropped her bread on the floor. Isaveth picked it up and scraped it clean, then went to fetch more mustard for her.

“Hating people doesn't solve anything,” said Annagail, but she sounded tired and less than convinced herself. “I'll go back to the Relief Shop tomorrow . . .”

She stopped, looking stricken, and Isaveth knew why: Papa's trial started tomorrow, so Anna wouldn't have time to go anywhere.

“I'll go,” Isaveth said quickly. “First thing in the morning.”

“But the Kerchers are stupid,” insisted Lilet. “If they were worried about losing their relief, why didn't they spend the money Merit sent them a little bit at a time, instead of wasting it all on some fancy crystal set? You'd think they
wanted
to get caught.”

“Merit, sending money?” Annagail frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Lilet looked at Isaveth, who admitted, “Well, I don't know for sure it was Merit. But where else could the money have come from? It's not like anyone else in the Kercher family has a job right now.”

“Neither does Merit.”

“What do you mean? Of course he does. He's working on the railway to Vesperia.” Or at least that was what Loyal had told everyone when his brother left. And he'd sounded so smug about it, he surely couldn't have been pretending.

Annagail shook her head. “That's only what Merit told Loyal because he didn't want to hurt him. He was hoping to find work somewhere, eventually, but . . .”

“You mean he's a rail rider?” Isaveth exclaimed, and Annagail lowered her eyes.

“He didn't have a choice,” she said softly. “There was nothing for him here.”

Isaveth regarded her sister in amazement. She'd
thought Papa was only being silly when he teased Anna about Merit Kercher, but their father had been more perceptive than she'd ever guessed. “How do you know all this?” she asked. “Has he been writing you letters?”

“Only a couple,” said Annagail, blushing. “I . . . I gave him a postage-mark and some paper when he left, you see. So I'd know he was all right.”

Lilet scowled at her. “Traitor.”

“Enough, Lilet,” Isaveth warned, and turned back to Annagail. “But if Merit isn't sending money home to his family . . . where are they getting it from?”

There was a long silence while the girls looked at one another. Then:

“I told you,” Lilet said defiantly. “The Kerchers are dirty spies.”

REPS' BILL STRUCK DOWN IN COUNCIL.

It was the first headline Isaveth read when she opened her copy of the
Citizen
on Duesday. She'd gone to the Relief Shop as promised, and managed to find Mimmi a pair of ugly old slip-shoes that were broken down at the heel. Even those had cost most of her money, so the cheaper news-rag was all she could afford.

“Naturally, I'm disappointed,” Eryx Lording told reporters after the vote. “But political change takes time. I still believe that one day my fellow lords and ladies will recognize the importance of equal representation for all of Tarreton's citizens, and until that day comes, I will continue to defend the rights of the common people as faithfully as I can.”

So that was that. The Workers' Club had lost, and Master Orien's murderer—whoever he was—had won. Despite Morra's optimism, despite all the letters and the speeches and the prayers, the ordinary folk of Tarreton were still at the mercy of their nobles. And though the Lording spoke confidently about a better future, there seemed no end to the city's troubles in sight.

The
Citizen
gave no news of Papa, either, except for a brief reminder that his trial would begin this morning. But Eryx had promised to have the Lawkeepers bring Tomias Rennick in for questioning—shouldn't there be something in the news-rags about that?

Isaveth scanned the local articles, looking for some hint that Rennick had been taken into custody, but she found nothing. Disheartened, she closed the paper and put it away.

*  *  *

When Annagail came home that night, she looked weary, but she had little to tell about the afternoon she'd spent in court.

“The adversary presented his case against Papa,” she said shortly when Lilet and Mimmi pressed her for details. “And the Lord Justice asked him some questions. Papa won't get to defend himself until tomorrow, so nothing's been decided yet.”

Only later, after the younger girls had gone to sleep, did Anna tell Isaveth the rest of the story. The court had heard testimony from several witnesses, including the cleaning maid who'd found Governor Orien's body (so she hadn't vanished after all, thought Isaveth) and the Healer-General, who'd examined him. The lawyer acting as adversary had also read statements from two unnamed informants who'd appeared before the Lord Justice in private, confirming that Papa had been a member of the Workers' Club and was known to hold a grudge against Orien.

“It shouldn't be allowed,” said Annagail, gripping her teacup so tightly Isaveth feared it would crack. “People testifying without showing their faces, or even giving their names. How can Papa defend himself if he doesn't know who's accusing him?”

Isaveth felt the same way, but the Lord Justice had the right to accept private testimony if he chose, so there was nothing they could do. Still, it wasn't hard to guess who the anonymous witnesses must be.

“Rennick,” she said bitterly. “And Mister Kercher, as likely as not. Oh, why are people so horrible?”

“Because we're Moshites.” Anna spoke with quiet conviction. “But we can't give in to them, Vettie. We can't let them frighten us away.” She took a deep breath. “I'm
going to wear Mama's prayer scarf in court tomorrow. Not for me, but for Papa. You understand, don't you?”

Dread clutched at Isaveth, and she nearly begged her sister to reconsider. Papa had never paid much attention to the All-One or the teachings of Moshiel, so what difference would a prayer scarf make to him?

But then she realized that no matter how risky the gesture, Annagail was right. By putting on her prayer scarf where everyone could see it, Anna wouldn't only be affirming her own faith; she'd be reminding Papa of their mother's love, and the memories they cherished as a family. And she'd be showing that she was proud to be Urias Breck's daughter, too.

Until now Isaveth had believed, and she'd nearly convinced Anna as well, that their only hope of escaping poverty was to keep their Moshite heritage a secret. That might still be true, but maybe some things were worth suffering for. Isaveth set down her teacup and laid her hand over her sister's.

“Yes,” she said. “I understand.”

*  *  *

The next day was Papa's defense, and the wait for news was so agonizing that Isaveth could think of little else. She prayed that their father would be a good advocate for himself, that he'd have the wits and the courage to
stand up to the adversary and convince the Lord Justice he was innocent. But when Isaveth met Annagail at the tram stop that night, one look at her sister's face told her those hopes had been vain.

Once Anna had stopped weeping long enough to describe what had happened, it was even worse than Isaveth had feared: Papa stammering out his argument before a pitiless adversary and a skeptical Lord Justice, with no witnesses and no evidence to support him. The best he could do was insist he'd had no motive to kill Orien, since the governor had offered him a job. But the Lord Justice dismissed the statement because Papa had no proof Orien had ever made such an offer.

At that point Papa begged the court to summon the messenger Orien had sent to find him, insisting the boy could confirm his story. But the Lawkeeper-General testified that his officers had visited every message service in the city, and none of them employed a boy with an eyepatch. . . .

“Quiz,” Isaveth gasped, and clapped both hands to her mouth, afraid she might be sick. If she'd ever been tempted to pity Esmond Lilord, she could never forgive him now.

“I know.” Annagail put an arm around her. “That's how I felt too. Where is he, Vettie? Why didn't he come?”

Isaveth knew the answer, but she couldn't say it. It would only destroy what little hope they had left. She leaned her head wearily against her sister's, and the two of them walked home.

*  *  *

By Trustday afternoon the tension in the Breck house was unbearable, with Lilet stomping up and down the stairs every few minutes, while Mimmi clung to Isaveth like a teary-eyed shadow. At last, in desperation, Isaveth dug out the copies of the
Trumpeter
and
Citizen
she'd bought earlier that week and gave her sisters each a section to read.

“We're going on a word hunt,” she said. “The first one to find the word ‘horse' wins. Go!”

Lilet muttered something about baby games, and at first Mimmi accepted her pages only with reluctance. But by the third round they'd risen to the challenge and started calling out new words for each other to find. Grateful for the distraction, Isaveth was playing along with them—the word this time was “healer”—when Mimmi jumped to her feet.

“I found it!” she exclaimed, thrusting her section at Isaveth. “Right here, see?”

She was pointing to a death notice in the
Citizen
that described the deceased woman as a former healer at
Sage Johram's Hospital. Isaveth was about to hand back the pages and declare Mimmi the winner of the round when her gaze fell to the entry below:

Tomias Arton RENNICK, twenty-eight years of age, found hanged in the grain elevator of Goodram's Distillery early Mendday morning. Death was evidently by his own hand, although he left no note. He is survived by a wife and one daughter. Memorial gifts and condolences may be left for the family at Fourways Unifying Temple.

The paper tumbled from Isaveth's nerveless fingers, rustling to the floor. No note meant no confession, and no Rennick meant no hope of ever getting one. No way to tell what part the young stonemason had played in Master Orien's murder, no chance of finding out who'd paid him to do it. Isaveth stared past the bewildered Mimmi, too stunned even to cry.

She'd failed. They'd lost. It was over.

*  *  *

BRECK FOUND GUILTY IN GOVERNOR'S MURDER
, blared the Fastday edition of the
Trumpeter
, while the smaller heading beneath read,
BUILDER SENTENCED TO HANG
. Yet the paper wasn't the only bad news Annagail
brought when she returned from work that morning.

“Mister Jespers was in the court the other day,” she said quietly to Isaveth as they sat together on the back step. Neither one of them had wept for Papa yet; the grief inside them went too deep for tears. “I didn't tell you because I thought he might not have noticed me, and I was praying he wouldn't say anything to Meggery. But . . .” She drew a shaky breath. “He did. I was cleaning the masters' lounge today when she came up to me and asked if I was Moshite.”

There was no need to wonder how that conversation had gone, or how it had ended. “Did she say anything about Papa?”

“No. But I think she suspected. She was . . . I'd never seen Meggery so upset. She told me to leave the college straightaway.” She twisted her prayer scarf between her hands. Then her eyes welled up and she whispered, “Oh, Vettie, what's going to become of us now?”

Isaveth had no answer. There were too many possibilities, each one bleaker than the last. And she still had to break the news to Lilet and Mimmi.

*  *  *

There was no supper that night, because no one could bear to eat. Mimmi shut herself in the bedroom and before long had sobbed herself to sleep. Lilet stormed out to the garden and threw herself into weeding, ripping
up the scrub-grass and false mustard so savagely that Annagail had to rush to keep her from uprooting all their herbs and vegetables as well.

Isaveth sat down in the empty silence of Papa's room and tried to write, but there were no words for what she was feeling. She crumpled up the scrap of paper and flung it into the wastebasket, then flopped onto the side of the bed that had been her mother's and lay motionless, staring out at the darkening sky. Before long the exhaustion of her grief overcame her, and she closed her eyes.

She was halfway through a muddled dream in which Aunt Sal was scolding her for painting Mimmi's shoes purple when the chords of a familiar theme song tugged her awake. Isaveth sat up, dragging a hand across her eyes, as the voice of the narrator took over:

“Last time, our heroine was racing to warn Peacemaker Otsik of a plot against his life—only to be waylaid by a mob of clouter-wielding dissenters! Will she make it to the embassy in time? Find out on this episode of
Auradia Champion, Lady Justice of
—”

The sentence cut off abruptly as Isaveth slammed the window shut. She burrowed beneath the covers, dragged a pillow over her head, and huddled there until the sound of the Kerchers' crystal set died away.

*  *  *

Tap, tap.

Isaveth turned her head restlessly against the mattress, flinching as her cheek hit the damp patch where she'd cried herself to sleep. The room was completely dark, except for one dim stripe between the curtains.

“Anna?” she mumbled, but there was no answer. She climbed out of bed, padded to the door, and opened it.

No shadow on the landing, no footsteps on the stair. And when she looked in the bedroom she usually shared with her sisters, all three of them were crammed together in one bed, fast asleep.

Tap, tap, tap.

The sound was coming from the room she'd just left. Something—or someone—was at Papa's window. Isaveth pressed her back to the doorframe, swallowing fear. Was it a hungry redcoon? A burglar? Or perhaps Loyal, climbing up under cover of night to torment her?